


Day 15: Genderswap

by melonbutterfly



Series: Tag-Team: 30 Days of Steve/Bucky Porn [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Married Couple, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over a month after he started breaking into her apartment every night, Bucky finally lets her see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 15: Genderswap

Most women, Steve thinks absently as she freezes mid-step, would react very differently to finding the shadow of a man in their living room in the middle of the night.

Then again, most women wouldn't have tolerated a regular nightly break-in spanning over a month to begin with. Certainly, they would not have begun cooking dinner for two and leaving one plate covered out on the kitchen table as soon as they noticed their visitor.

She isn't most women, though, and her trespasser is not a criminal.

Until now, he has never let her see her. She has no doubt that he didn't let her notice his break-ins until he was ready either; he might have been paying her regular visits for weeks before he left her things disturbed enough for her to notice. As in putting the orange juice on the wrong shelf in her fridge.

Now he's waiting for her in the darkest corner of her living room, though, has allowed her to see him when he could have hidden or left before she even got there. She made no effort to be quiet or stealthy when she, sleepy and a little shaken from her dreams, left her bedroom in search of a glass of juice.

The juice is forgotten, because Bucky is waiting for her, and one wrong move now might send him away for possibly ever.

Steve takes a breath, and then another, until her heart is beating a little less fast in her chest. The moonlight shines on her through the window front, and Bucky is a dark shape in a sea of darkness, and yet he moved, just the tiniest bit but ensuring with it that she'd notice. Then he went still again and let her stare at his dark silhouette. "Is there something you need?" she eventually asks, quietly.

The day she became aware of Bucky's visits is the day she started cooking for two, even though it took eleven days before Bucky actually started eating the meals she left out for him. It's also the day she left out her grocery list on the fridge, writing "if there's anything you'd like just add it" at the top. Nineteen days after the first list – every time she returned from shopping, she would start a new list with those exact same words at the top – he underlined "oranges". Nine days after that he wrote "chocolate pudding" underneath her "bread". He had requested several items since then, mostly what they would have considered luxury foods back then, and she had always bought them the very next day, be it her grocery run day or not.

Twenty-eight days ago he stopped hiding the fact that he used her bathtub. Nineteen days ago he started leaving his clothes for her to wash, just three times so far but always with a little gift on top; chocolate pralines, a nice candle, a good pencil for sketching. Clearly he remembered the argument they had shortly after they moved in together that Steve may be a woman, but she was not his maid and would not do all the household chores on her own.

Steve had taken it as a sign – as she had taken every foray of his as a sign, to be honest – but when nothing more happened for a week she had resigned herself to again waiting for him. She'd gotten good at that by this point, seven months since the Potomac. It was a bit of an irony, considering how when he had gone off to war, she had been so opposed to waiting for him she'd gone ahead and signed up as a science experiment just so she wouldn't have to.

When it becomes increasingly obvious that he isn't going to reply, she takes a breath, then exhales. Slow, she tells herself. "I'm glad you're here," she says softly. It doesn't require a reply and she doesn't expect to get one, not for this nor for anything else she'll say, so she doesn't bother to frame her next sentence as a question. "I hope you're okay. If there is anything you want or need, just let me know."

Then, and this is the hardest thing she has ever done, she continues on her original path towards the kitchen. She's almost on the threshold when he suddenly speaks, freezing her in her tracks again.

"You shouldn't be so trusting."

Slowly, she exhales. "You're not going to hurt me."

"I meant to."

Really, this is how they're going to play it? Fine. Chin raised, she turns around again, and he hasn't moved from his dark corner. "Then you had plenty chances the past couple of months. That you didn't tells me all I need to know."

He shifts on his feet a little. "You should have been more careful."

"I think I've been as careful as I needed to." She raises one eyebrow.

He's silent for a moment, and then he says, tone very wry and very Bucky, "I know better than to argue with you when you look like that."

Back then, she would have reacted to that with a flippant, "Good, so you can learn after all," but the words get scrambled up in her throat and instead come out as something completely different. "I miss you so fucking much, Buck." Or perhaps not that different after all.

She sees him go still and thinks, this is it. The moment he leaves because she screwed up.

Instead, he takes a step towards her and says, voice rough and somehow pleading, "Stevie."

God, nobody has called her that since he asked her about payback for Coney Island. The memory brings tears to her eyes and she has to lower her gaze, cover her mouth with one hand for a moment.

In three long, if slow steps he's in front of her, and how careful he is about approaching her doesn't help her any. She didn't mean to cry, never meant to do that in front of him; it feels too much like emotional blackmail. Her tears had always sent him into a near panicked frenzy, trying to fix what was wrong or make her feel better somehow and if it was only by putting a blanket over her shoulders and making her soup like she was ill. She'd always been grateful that she didn't tend to cry when she was angry, or when she had her monthlies.

But she cries now. She's crying and he's standing in front of her when she's pretty sure he didn't plan to even get that close to her, didn't even want to let her see him as anything but a shadow amongst shadows, and she hates herself for breaking down in the most important moment of her new life, the absolute worst time for it. And then his hand is on her cheek, hesitant at first, but eventually his touch settles and he's cupping her face. Leans their heads together, forehead to forehead, and she has to cover her mouth with one hand.

It takes her a while to realize that he's keeping his metal hand away from her, time she needs to compose herself, but as soon as she notices she reaches out with her free hand, the one that wasn't busy stifling any noise she might make, and captures his hand, cold and hard against hers as she twines their fingers.

He goes still for a moment, then slowly relaxes, letting out a breath. "They took my ring," he eventually offers, very quietly.

Very gently, she shakes her head. She lowers her hand and takes a deep breath to steady herself. "They, they searched for you. Your arm- apparently they found it, if not the rest of you." All she's wearing is a huge t-shirt, and her necklace. She shouldn't wear it while sleeping but she can't bear the thought of taking it off, even for just a few hours. Her dogtags are on her nightstand.

She pulls the chain out and there at the end dangles Bucky's ring. Materially speaking it's not worth a lot, but its sentimental value makes it priceless. A few days after New York Tony had given it to her, awkward but genuine. "Do you want it back?" she asks, managing nothing above a whisper.

He hesitates, and she tries not to let it break her heart. Until he says, "Can't wear it on my left."

"Doesn't matter," she immediately replies, also trying not to let her hope soar. "It's yours, if you want it."

"God, Stevie," he mutters. "'Course I want it."

She nods and regretfully lets go of his hand; she needs both to open the delicate clasp. Unfortunately he takes that as a sign to give her some space and steps back further into the shadows.

They're already standing in a dark part of her living room, so she can't see his expression at all when she opens her necklace, pulls the ring off and holds it out for him in the palm of her hand. But instead of taking it he offers her his hand, the right one, like that day they had stood in front of each other and god and swore to love and cherish one another 'til death do them apart.

Her fingers are trembling when she takes his hand and slides the simple gold band onto his ring finger, but his hand isn't exactly steady either so she thinks it's okay. It seems impossible, but the ring fits perfectly. Once it's on he curls his fingers into a fist, then quickly captures her left hand before she can pull away and lifts it to his mouth. He kisses first the ring he put there seventy-six years ago, then the back of her hand, stubble scratching her skin. His lips are warm and Steve can't breathe.

He looks up and she doesn't know what her face is doing, but he goes still. Then he takes a step forwards, well within her reach now, close enough that she can almost feel his breath on her face. He's still holding her hand. That sticks in her mind just as much as his expression, clearer now that he's closer to the moonlit kitchen. "Stevie," he says, brows furrowed up. He's feeling bad about something, but the only reason she can think of why he would is that he's going to leave again.

That's okay. If that's what he needs, that's fine. It'll have to be.

Still, she doesn't quite manage to keep her voice from hitching. "It's okay, y-you can-" Take a deep breath. There is nothing she wants less in that moment, but clearly she can't control herself enough for one fucking minute while she's looking at him so she needs to. Close her eyes. Breathe. "Whatever you need." She can't even say his name because she doesn't know what he wants her to call him, _who the hell is Bucky_ echoing in her memory. "You can leave if you want to."

He has approximately three seconds from the moment he lets go of her hand until the things she's trying to contain in her chest burst out, but he doesn't let go. Instead he says her name again. "Stevie."

His voice is even rougher than before. She opens her eyes and has to blink several times before her blurry vision clears, but then she sees that there are tears in his eyes and she just can't. Just barely telegraphing the move, she wraps her free arm around Bucky's shoulders and pushes herself into him. Once upon a time she would've had to stand on the tips of her toes for that but now she can just lean into him, pull him close. It's probably not a good idea, at best he'll push her away and leave, but he's crying and there is no scenario in which Steve could let that go.

As she should have – probably did – expected, Bucky tenses at the touch, muscles locking up completely. For one breathless moment they hover there on the edge of something, Steve can feel it even if she couldn't name or explain it for the life of her. Then it's like all the air goes out of Bucky in one breath and suddenly he's wrapping both arms around her and pulling her close, holding her tight.

A startled noise escapes Steve and that's probably the stupidest thing she's done all evening because Bucky tenses again, pulls his metal arm away from her and almost lets go. Pure fear grips her in that moment, as if Bucky will never come back if he lets go of her now and she gasps out "Please" and holds onto him with both arms. Immediately his grip on her tightens again, but only with the one arm.

That just won't do. Untangling one hand, Steve captures Bucky's metal arm, careful not to grip too tightly, and puts it back around her. He goes entirely still again at the contact, then exhales shakily and tightens his grip on her. Then he tightens it more, until he's squeezing her hard enough to make it difficult to breathe. His face sinks into her neck and for a second she thinks he's going to really cry, but after inhaling deeply Bucky lifts his head again and nudges his cheek against hers.

She knows what he means by that, is so familiar with the move she doesn't even have to think, just lifts her own head almost on instincts and turns it towards his, and then his lips brush across hers. Tentative at first, like he's making sure she's okay with this, and that she just can't let stand. As if there was ever a time in her life that Steve didn't want to kiss him. She tilts her head into the contact, presses her lips firmer against his, feels his warmth and also his stubble, not as long as she would have expected, a gentle rasp that's actually familiar from times when he had two days off in a row and didn't bother to shave. She'd always liked his stubble; it had been a private thing, something only she got to see because he was conscientious about looking neat when he left their apartment. That's not true anymore, but that doesn't change that she likes it.

They're both still, held in suspension; this is another of those possibly life-changing moments. Steve barely even dares to breathe. Her eyes flutter shut and she deliberately makes the decision to just... not care. Whatever happens, she can deal with it when it happens. Bucky is here with her right now and she's missed him so fucking much, ironically even more so when she learned that he wasn't dead after all. As sick as it makes her for him, she's incredibly lucky to have this chance. Whatever happens will happen, but she will take this.

She will have this.

She does raise to the tips of her toes then, pushing into the kiss; he's still taller than her, if only by a little, but now they're of exactly the same height. His mouth is wet and warm against hers and he's holding her, and she tilts her head just a little.

Just enough. He opens into the kiss, one hand sliding down her back to settle right above the waistband of her panties. Her t-shirt is thin enough that she can feel the warmth of his palm through it and she shivers, tightens her grip on him. His tongue flicks across her lower lip, requesting entrance, and Steve immediately opens her mouth and meets it with hers, tangles their tongues together as she slides one hand into his hair. It's soft, messy, probably hasn't seen a brush in days, and her fingers tangle in it beautifully. He never let his hair grow out this long but she thinks she might come to like it.

His teeth nip on her lower lip, sending a thrill through her body, and Steve makes a tiny noise, tries to press herself more firmly into him as if that were even possible. Her breasts are getting squished between them he's holding her so tightly and she's pretty sure he's well-aware that she's not wearing anything underneath her oversized t-shirt. She likes that, knowing that he knows, and if she shifts a little... oh yeah, he knows. Is very well aware of it, in fact. She almost smirks, if she weren't so busy sucking on his lower lip.

Bucky's tongue thrusts back into her mouth at the same time as now his other hand moves down her back, then both move further down to caress her ass, squeeze a little just once before they move further down. This, she remembers too; when she was much smaller he could lift her up easily, but that changed when she got so much heavier with the serum enhancing pretty much her everything. But he's stronger now, she remembers that, and if he wants this... she's missed it.

Her arms tighten their hold around his shoulders and when his hands wrap around her thighs in preparation she jumps up, just a little, and wraps her legs around his hips. His hands, one warm and calloused, the other cold and hard, lift her up a little higher then stay right where they are, on her naked skin, supporting her weight.

He's lifted her right to where he wants her. The bulge in his jeans nudges against her crotch and she shivers, shifts her legs a little so she can dig her heels into his ass, pull herself closer and rub herself against him. A tiny noise escapes him, the first sound he made since they started kissing and Steve moans in reply, does it again.

Bucky's mouth rips away from hers and presses against her cheek, wet and breathing heavily, and that's probably a good idea, enhanced or no they still need oxygen but she still finds this unacceptable. She's panting as well but she doesn't care, cups his face with one hand and tilts it so she can press her mouth to his jaw, feel stubble tickling her sensitive lips.

"Stevie," he growls, and she moans in reply, seals her mouth over his again to clumsily push her tongue into his mouth. He returns the kiss immediately, turns his head into it and then his whole body and it takes her a moment to realize that he's walking. She doesn't care what he's planning, is slightly amazed that he can think clearly enough at all to have made a decision that doesn't involve more, closer. It's certainly the only thing on Steve's mind right now. God, but she needs him.

Wherever they're going, they meet a wall along the way. Steve only notices when Bucky pushes her into it, rolls his hips against hers, the cloth of his jeans hard and unforgiving against her wet panties that almost feel like there is nothing separating him from her. With her against the wall he can hold her up with just one hand and he uses the other, the flesh hand, to slide under her shirt and up along her side. The skin of his palm can't exactly be called soft but the touch still sends pleasant shivers through her body, pooling in the pit of her belly.

Right where her ribs start his hand slides to the front, making a very obvious beeline. Once he's reached his destination and cups one of her breasts he groans into her mouth like he's starving. He doesn't squeeze like she half-expects him to, just holds her and rubs his thumb across her nipple. She shivers and gasps against his lips, then does something she didn't mean to: says his name.

He shivers against her and murmurs "Yes," just that one word but clearly audible, and she stifles what's probably a sob against his lips, digs her teeth into his lower lip and rolls her hips into every one of his thrusts against her. "Bucky," she gasps again, because if she can say his name she wants to say it until she can't form words anymore, and because she wants to hear him say it again.

He does. "Yes," he growls, sucking her tongue into his mouth and thrusting against her one last time. Then he snarls, a nearly feral sound, and wraps his metal arm around her hips, uses it to support her weight as he pulls them away from the wall and walks them down the corridor, towards the bedroom. She would have had him against the wall or right on the floor, but does not object at all to the idea of bed.

"Yes," she murmurs, lips swollen and almost numb with overstimulation as she moves them along his jaw again. God, but she forgot how he tastes, how he feels against her; memory cannot hope to keep up with the real thing. "C'mon," she gasps right as he steps over the threshold into the bedroom, and in two quick strides he has crossed the distance to her bed and lowers her down on it. She half-expected to be dropped down unceremoniously but he's gentle, almost careful as he kneels on the mattress and sets her down.

Whatever he's planning, it seems to involve him not on the bed going by the way he's holding himself up above her and that just won't do. Steve absolutely refuses to let go of him and pulls him down along with her, and he makes the most wonderful sound she's ever heard; he laughs. Her bedroom is brightly lit by moonlight because when she got up she pulled the curtains away, and it was the best decision because now she can see him clearly. There are shadows under his eyes and he looks unkempt, but his eyes are as blue as she remembers and a lot more alive than they were last time she looked into them.

They're focused entirely on her. His flesh hand cups her face as he smiles down at her. "Need to get outta my clothes," he tells her, and he sounds so much like the Brooklyn boy she fell in love with it hurts. It's a good kind of pain though and it makes her smile.

"Well hurry," she replies and lets go of him. He sits up and she grabs the hem of her shirt, pulls it over her head and winds a bit to get it out from under her body. Once it's off she throws it to the side carelessly, only to find that he's still kneeling there between her knees, staring down at her with his lips parted, a very flattering expression on his face. He's not even blinking.

Any other time she might let him stare for as long as he wants but right now she's impatient; she's literally been waiting for him for months. "Bucky," she says, reaching out to tug at his shirt. "You can stare all you like – later. Yeah?"

He blinks, nearly startled, and swallows audibly. "Yeah." Then he proceeds to rip his clothes off with a speed Steve honestly had not known human beings were capable of. He strips a couple weapons off in the process as well but Steve couldn't care less about that because he's baring himself to her, all expanses of naked, muscular skin. There is not an ounce of fat on his body, not even that cute little almost double-chin he never seemed to lose even when they could count his ribs by sight and Steve resolves to cook even more for him. It's the least of the changes on him but it's the only one she's willing to focus on right now.

Now she's the one caught staring; once he's standing naked he looks at her, then at her simple white cotton panties and raises one eyebrow. Steve doesn't feel embarrassed at all; if she wants to look at her husband she's going to, ain't nobody going to stop her.

She can multi-task, though, so without taking her eyes off Bucky she slips her panties off and simultaneously squirms further up the bed. Once she's high enough her feet won't hang over the edge she grins, because Bucky is staring again, and throws her panties at him. They hit him in the chest and he catches them almost absently, lifts them to his nose to breathe her scent in without taking his eyes off her. Now, Steve does flush.

He throws the panties aside and grins at her, licks his lips and kneels down on the bed before crawling up to her. His expression is predatory, eyes dark and smirk curling up the corners of his lips, and his cock is hard and red between his legs. God, but she wants him so much.

Bucky's flesh hand touches her knee once he gets there, then slides down her inner thigh. His expression, predatory and hungry, makes Steve shiver and she opens herself more to him, lets him crawl between her legs. For a moment he doesn't look away from her face, but then his hand settles on her hip and his gaze lowers to the split of her thighs.

She knows that expression on his face and her lips part, and then he dives between her legs and licks one broad stripe up her pussy. Steve doesn't bother suppressing her moan and when he does it again has to struggle not to drop her head, but though she cant's see much of his face from this angle she wants to see anyway. His long hair tickles her thighs and his tongue tickles somewhere else, diving between her lips and sliding up, up, right to her clit. First gently, then more sure the tip of his tongue laps at her and she doesn't know what sounds she's making but he takes the time to grin up at her for them, so they must be good. Then he dives back in, kisses her there before his tongue goes back to work, stubble tickling her sensitive skin.

God, he still knows exactly what she likes, to start out slowly and keep it playful, interspersed with a few killer moves that completely do her in. Without even her conscious control her fingers find their way into his hair and clench there; when she notices what she's doing she loosens her grip and tries with trembling fingers to brush the hair out of his face, but right at that moment he pushes in, closes his lips around her clit and sucks gently and she loses complete control of her limbs. She's pretty sure she screams his name but she could care less because she's coming, far sooner than she meant to.

Both her hands are clenched in his hair now but he's grinning when he sits up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand; he looks absolutely filthy and absolutely gorgeous. Steve can barely catch her breath yet but the smug, self-satisfied look on his face is irresistible and she reaches out for him. He immediately leans towards her, expression softening, and lets her cup his face, then follows and crawls up her body when she pulls him closer.

Too impatient for finesse she leans up and meets his mouth with hers, slants her lips to his and pushes her tongue into his mouth. He immediately reacts with equal enthusiasm, leaning over her and pushing her into the pillow as he sucks on her tongue. He tastes like her and it makes her shiver before she has to pull away a little to gasp for breath.

Steve doesn't want to wait though, doesn't want to be separated from him for a second longer and reaches between their bodies, wraps one hand around his cock and pulls him towards her. Bucky moans like it's punched out of him, wide-eyed with surprise for a moment before his expression firms, determination settling in his eyes. The moment she's positioned him at her entrance he pushes in with one firm thrust. They groan in unison and his head sags for a moment as he stills. But he's in her and it's been so long, feels much longer than two years and she can't wait, needs him now.

"Bucky," she moans, just because she can say it now, because he's here, and he lifts his head and looks at her, eyes intent. Without breaking their gaze even to blink he pulls out, then pushes back in again, eyelashes fluttering a little when she tilts her hips up to meet him. He starts out slowly but very quickly picks up the pace. Steve isn't entirely innocent in that; she slings one leg around his hips and one of her arms around his shoulders and moves into every one of his thrusts, rolls her body into his in that way they both like, makes him stare at her like she's the answer to everything. Her other hand is free to touch and touch she does, pinching his nipples until he hisses at her, eyes burning. His rhythm never falters and Steve grins, chin tilted up, and welcomes the wild, uncoordinated kiss he gives her for it. Her hand continues to roam down his chest, fingernails scratching down his belly where he likes it, then up his back. Still Bucky's pace remains steady but she isn't imagining that his hips snap forward with even more force; every time they come together it feels like sparks shoot through her body. She wants to see him come, wants to feel him shiver in her arms and go weak afterwards. "C'mon," she gasps.

He growls in reply, rhythm unrelenting but she knows him, can feel the tension in his shoulders that means he isn't far now. Maybe she could tell him to wait, not come yet; a little more of this and she'll be ready to go off again herself but she simply doesn't want to wait. She wants to feel him _now_.

"C'mon," she says again, a challenge. Bucky bares his teeth and leans back a little, puts enough force into his thrusts that a non-enhanced woman probably wouldn't enjoy it anymore. The only reason she isn't skidding up the bed is because she's holding on too tightly, and because his metal hand is holding him up right above her shoulder, keeping her in place. His hips snap forwards three, four times and then his mouth goes slack, eyes squeezing shut as he finds release in her body, her name on his lips.

Before the war, they always had to be careful; he couldn't collapse on top of her or she'd be unable to breathe. During the war they were generally in a hurry, had to be quiet and quick, often didn't even have a bed. But now they do, and she wraps both arms around him to keep him from moving off her as his strength wanes. He doesn't resist, just collapses on top of her and, still shivering, rests his sweaty forehead on her collarbone. They're both sticky but he doesn't seem to care and neither does she; all she wants is to keep him here and maybe for him to make her come again in a little bit. But sleep is tugging at her and she has to struggle to keep her eyes open.

She loses that fight when she slides one hand down his spine and finds that he has dozed off. He's here right now, literally in her arms, lax and asleep. Maybe she can allow herself to rest a little too.

The moment he stirs she wakes up. In the course of their nap they've changed positions a little, he's slid off her a bit but they're still tangled together. So he's very careful about it as he slowly extracts himself from her; if she hadn't been waiting for it she might not have woken at all. As soon as he's gone she feels cold.

Maybe he's just going to the bathroom, she tells herself, but that hope trickles away when he starts to very quietly pick up his clothes and weapons. Steve opens her eyes to see him bent over, collecting something from the floor that's a little further away than his own pile of clothes: her panties. Then, completely silently, he walks to the bedroom door. In the doorway he throws one last glance at her and freezes when he finds her eyes open.

She watches him hesitate and says nothing. If he really wants to leave she's not going to stop him, even if it might break her heart.

But he doesn't. Just stays there, hovering in the doorway like he didn't mean for her to watch him go, as if that makes it better at all, waking up to a cold bed and an empty apartment. Eventually she can't bear the tension a moment longer and says, very quietly, "It's okay if you want to leave." She doesn't say "me" but he seems to hear it anyway because flinches a little.

"Stevie," he says, sounding helpless somehow, and when she blinks he sets his bundle of clothes down and comes back to her, leans over the bed to brush the hair out of her face. "I never want to leave you."

This she knows to be true, and yet. "Then why are you going to go?"

"I'm all broken up, Stevie," he tells her, voice wobbling a little as he taps his temple. "'S not just me in there you know."

She probably doesn't, but she says it anyway. "I know. I don't see why that means you have to leave."

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm a complete mess. You don't deserve that, Stevie."

Now that's just stupid. "Remember our wedding vows? In sickness and in health? I brought a whole lot of sickness into our marriage, Bucky. If you can't accept that I want to be with you because I love you, no matter what, you can see it as evening the odds out."

"That's completely different," he replies, still shaking his head.

"Not for me," Steve returns stubbornly. "Bucky, I'm not gonna... if you really want to leave, I won't stop you. But if you're only leaving because you think it's better for me – it isn't. Trust me." This part is hard to say, but she swallows and makes herself say it anyway. "I miss you so much it's hard to breathe sometimes. I'd rather have you with me than anything else in the world."

He looks at her for a moment. "I never know who I'll be when I wake up. Sometimes I've been up for hours before I snap to and I don't even know what I've done in that time. Sometimes everything that moves is a potential threat and I couldn't let go of the knife if I wanted to. It's dangerous, Stevie. _I'm_ dangerous."

She shakes her head. "I don't care. If that happens we'll deal with it – together. Like we've dealt with everything life has thrown at us so far."

He's wavering, it's plain to see, and all of a sudden she feels like she's trying to persuade him into something he doesn't want, so she forces herself to make sure that's not what's happening. "If you really want to leave, that's okay. You can come back anytime you want to; I'll be waiting."

For some reason, that's what makes up his mind; he kneels on the mattress and leans over her, cups her face with both hand and kisses her, deep and almost desperate. When they pull apart they're both breathing hard and it's not entirely because of the kiss.

Bucky rests his forehead against hers and exhales. "I'll stay," he whispers, so quiet she almost doesn't understand him.

Eyes squeezing shut, Steve swallows, then nods carefully.

Some time later, he pulls away from her and she watches as he closes the bedroom door. Then he picks up his bundle of clothes and sets them back by the bed, sending her an apologetic look as he puts a knife under the pillow and a gun on the nightstand. She just raises her eyebrow and nods to where the shield is leaning within arm's reach against the wall. One corner of his mouth quirks up and he slides back into bed with her, fishing the crumpled sheet from the foot end of the bed and pulling it over their shoulders. She waits as he shifts around a little, clearly not really used to sleeping in a bed anymore; eventually he ends up on his left side, metal arm curled under the pillow and right arm almost tentatively stretched over her. As soon as he's settled she curls into him, tangles their legs together and tucks herself under his chin like she's been doing since they were kids.

"Just promise me one thing," she whispers before she can chicken out.

His hand, now settled in the small of her back, flexes. "What?"

"If you leave, don't go without telling me?"

For a breath, another, he's silent. Then he says, "I promise."

She nods and closes her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Bucky's arm being recovered I got from hannahrhen's [Ain't No Good Thing Ever Dies ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1754419).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13028106) by [cettevieestbien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cettevieestbien/pseuds/cettevieestbien)




End file.
